


Sleepless Nights

by Amsare



Category: BioShock
Genre: Anal Sex, Dreams, Fantasizing, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amsare/pseuds/Amsare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Did he really believe that it would have been easy to forget Rapture once for all?</i><br/> <br/><i>Did he really believe that those monsters would have stopped to haunt him during those endless sleepless nights?</i></p><p>After Rapture, Jack's dreams are not common dreams.</p><p>
  <i> "Hello, boyo."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Another Jatlas because I can't stop myself from writing about them. I'm still very sorry Jack, I love you.

_“Come outside to play, don’t be shy!”_  
  
_There are stains on his dress, red spots of what it seems to be blood; part of her dirty blouse is shattered. In a hand, she carries a big EVE syringe._  
  
_Probably she could have been a beautiful woman if she had not become a splicer: blonde hair, red eyes, smeared lipstick on her face._  
  
_“I know you want this,” she says maniacally, glancing the syringe just for a second, “we can share it, if you’re a good boy…”_  
  
_Jack is tired of hearing her talking so he comes out his hiding place: he fires his shotgun, hitting her in the chest._  
  
_She makes a horrible gaggling sound, blood spattering everywhere, EVE syringe falling down on the dirty wooden floor._  
  
_Dead._  
  
_Jack lowers his weapon, coming closer to the corpse and takes the glowing blue syringe; he wastes no time as he injects it into his veins, EVE flowing through his body, making him feel powerful again._  
  
_“Well done, Boyo!” the shortwave radio crackles in a familiar way, “Now, would you kindly keep on going? You’re doing a fantastic job!”_  
  
_Would you kindly…_  
  
_Would you kindly..._  
  
   
“NO!” Jack wakes up, heart beating hard and fast.  
  
“Jack?” There’s a woman in his room who just got closer to his bed.  
  
For a second, Jack thinks she’s a splicer but then he starts to get used to this reality: she’s Dr. Brigid Tenenbaum.  
  
   
Everything’s alright.  
  
He’s not in Rapture.  
  
   
“Jack? Are you okay?” Brigid asks him quite warned: this is not the first time he had nightmares after all, “breathe Jack, relax.”  
  
Jack’s hyperventilating so he tries to slow down his heart beat, doing exactly how Brigid is telling him to do.  
  
  
Relax.  
  
Breathe.  
  
  
She touches his shoulder, caressing him – “it’s alright Jack, I’m here,” – she says tenderly.  
  
Her light touch and sweet words make him feel safer, better, adrenaline fading off.  
  
Jack passes a hand through his hair, feeling rather uncomfortable in his clothes: he’s soaked in sweat.  
  
“What time is it?” he eventually asks her, “I woke you up, didn’t I,” of course he woke her up, just like the last time and the last time before.  
  
Brigid sighs, “it’s nearly four in the morning,” she goes toward the little cabinet next to the door, grabbing a glass and filling it up with water, “and yes, you woke me up but you shouldn’t worry about it.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jack says anyway, taking the glass from her hands and drinking a few gulps , _he was parched_.  
  
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault,” she replies matter-of-factly, “you were back down there, weren’t you?”  
  
  
Jack nods and closes his eyes just for a second, shivering at the mere thought of it.  
  
Did he really believe that it would have been easy to forget Rapture once for all?  
  
Did he really believe that those monsters would have stopped to haunt him during those endless sleepless nights?  
  
He needs time to heal his mind completely from that experience, he’s well aware of it, but sometimes he wishes he could not feel a fucking thing so that he could stop suffering.  
  
His entire life had been a lie, a megalomaniac’s fantasy, false memories implanted one after another in his brain: his mother and father’s smiles and faces, his country house in Kansas… They were not real.  
  
   
They aren’t real.  
  
They don’t exist.  
   
  
“I’m supposed to be a killing machine,” he says giving air to his thoughts, “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to act like normal person.”  
  
“You demonstrated that, Jack!” Brigid exclaims, “we had this discussion countless times before, you know you are person. When you had to choose between saving our little girls or harvesting them, you made the right decision. You saved all of them and _look_!” She looks up to the ceiling, “you gave them this house and _hope_.”  
  
Jack sighs, “I know but…”  
  
“You need to rest now,” she cuts his off, “it’s useless ruminate the past, especially at this time in the morning. You’re tired.”  
  
Jacks remains in silence as Brigid tightens her nightgown around herself and goes to the door to exit, “goodnight, Jack.”  
   
“Goodnight.”  
   
The door shuts.  
   
  
  
***  
  
  
_“You want to teach you to dance? I’m real good!”_  
  
_Jack has hidden under a wooden table, blood and alcohol splattered on the floor: this is Rapture. He’s getting used to his nauseating smell._  
  
_“I know you’re here! COME ON!”_  
  
_This Splicer is one of the worst kind as he doesn’t want to leave Jack get away from that room alive; he kicks some tables, breaking bottles of expensive wine._  
  
_The man is getting dangerously closer to Jack – he’s going to find him, he’s going to kill him._  
  
_“Got ya!”_  
  
_Jack shots a couple of time, the Splicer is on him, choking him, dirty hands around his neck and…_  
   
  
Jack is completely awake all of a sudden: this is not Rapture, isn’t it, this is his room, he’s in his bed.  
  
He’s just about to lie back still when he notices something: he’s not alone.  
  
Jack switches on the light nervously.  
  
   
“Hello, boyo.”  
  
   
This is not fucking possible: he tries to focus on his own reality so that he can wake himself up.  
   
“You seem quite surprised to see me, uh?” Atlas is sitting at the foot of his bed, staring at him: he’s wearing the same clothes Jack had seen on those posters in Rapture – white shirt, black suspenders, dirty trousers.  
  
“I bet you are, I’m dead after all,” Atlas smirks as he keeps on speaking, his voice making Jack’s heart stop.  
  
   
_I have to get away from here._  
  
_I have to wake up, now._  
  
   
“I’m happy to see you’ve settled nicely,” he looks around himself as if he was impressed, mocking him, “playing the Big Daddy part, if you know what I mean.”  
  
Jack is frozen where is lying: he wishes he had a blanket covering him but it has fallen on the floor.  
   
Atlas looks at him _predatory_ with those fucking icy blue eyes.  
   
_Fuck_.  
   
“You’re doing well, aren’t ya? Rapture is gone, you saved those little monsters… Am I right?”  
   
“You’re not real,” Jack says shivering: this man has still a strong power over him: if only he knew how to get rid of it.  
   
“As I said, I’m also very much dead. We both know I’m not physically here of course, but this doesn’t make you less scared of me,” Atlas explains maliciously, lining back on his shoulder.  
   
“I want to wake up.”  
   
“I’m afraid you can’t, boyo. Would you kindly not try to wake up?”  
   
Jack hears it, something hidden deep inside his brain snaps as soon as Atlas uses those words: he obeys, mind focusing involuntarily on this messed up reality.  
   
Atlas cannot resist laughing at him, “just like the old times, boyo! Me and you in Rapture when you had absolutely no idea about my true identity! Wasn’t it easier? Wasn’t it good? You miss that night in hell, don’t ya?” his accent slips for a second but Jack doesn’t mind as there’s _Atlas_ in front of him.  
   
Not _Fontaine_.  
   
“Would kindly stay still where you are?”  
   
Jack relaxes his body, now limp against the mattress; Atlas moans satisfied, moving on the bed, straddling on him, “Perfect.”  
Atlas bends down on Jack, foreheads touching and Jack knows what’s going to happen and…  
   
He doesn’t even have to ask.  
  
   
_Please, Brigid, forgive me._  
  
   
Jack leans forward just a bit to kiss him hard on his mouth, wanting nothing else apart from that; Atlas grunts and deepens the kiss, Jack welcoming eagerly inside, tasting him.  
   
He knows it’s all wrong and this time he cannot even blame his actions on the WYK phrase.  
It’s Atlas’ fault – his body, his voice, his gestures – that make Jack go crazy.  
   
Real, unreal, dream, nightmare…  
   
Everything has no sense except his own sick desire for the man over him.  
   
Atlas pins him down on the bed, both hands on Jack’s wrists and then licks him on his neck, nibbling the delicate skin – Jack moans, tilting his head back to give him more space.  
   
“Oh, the things we could have done together, boyo,” Atlas murmurs against his throat, “I would have made you beg for me to fuck you, to claim you, night after night – why have you turned your back on me, mmm?”  
   
Jack doesn't know what to answer him because he's rock hard and he's not thinking straight; Atlas is on him and he cannot resist from pushing against his firm body.  
   
He's drunk of lust and Atlas is well aware of it, in fact he asks, "would you kindly strip off your clothes?"  
   
Jack pushes Atlas away unwillingly and strips himself as fast as he can, tossing his clothes who knows where in the room.  
   
"Oh, boyo, look at yourself," Atlas drops his suspenders, slipping of his shirt, "you can't wait for me," and he undresses calmly taking his time while Jack is completely naked under his gaze.  
   
"Open your legs, would you kindly," Atlas gestures him and Jack does it.  
   
_Yes, yes, yes_ , Jack thinks lustfully, spreading his legs and _soaking wet_ , fully prepared.  
   
Altas whistles, "Good to see in your dreams you don't like wasting any time with foreplay, boyo," he pushes two fingers inside, twisting them and making Jack whine for the pleasure, "I like that."  
   
Jack spreads his legs even more and Atlas bends over him, pushing his cock right in his wet entrance with no hesitation – “oh, fuck!”  
   
The bed crackles under Atlas’ hard pace, pushing harder and harder, his skin against Jack’s wet one; he grips him tight on his hips, fingers clenching him, claiming him.  
   
_It’s illogically perfect_ , Jack manages to think as he’s completely drunk with lust.  
  
   
_Perfect._  
   
  
“Who do you belong to?” Atlas asks as he wraps his hand around Jack’s neglected cock, pumping it a couple of time without stopping himself from fucking him.  
   
Muscles clenching rhythmically, hotness spreading in his belly – _oh Atlas, yes_ – body curving and craving its release…  
   
“To you, Atlas!” Jack says between his gasps, “p-please…!”  
Atlas looks him into his eyes and whispers one last simple command, “come, boyo, would you kindly?”  
   
  
_Oh!_  
   
  
Jack nearly cries as he comes hard into Atlas’ hand, spurting between their hot bodies; Atlas brings his hand to his mouth, moaning around his fingers and making them clean, “so tasty,” he comments cockily, thrusting once, twice again into Jack, coming too with a grunt.  
   
When Atlas pulls away from him, Jack is a complete mess; foolishly, he wishes he could stay like this forever.  
  
   
“I think you had enough for this time. Better than the usual nightmares, don’t you think boyo?”  
   
Jack tilts his head toward him but his vision is blurry so he can’t focus on Atlas’ face.  
  
   
_“See you in your next dream, boyo.”_  
  
   
*  
  
   
Jack opens his eyes.  
   
“Atlas?!” he calls for him but as soon as he does it, he understands it’s useless.  
   
He’s alone in his bed and he’s finally awake.  
  
_It was just another fucking dream._  
   
His pants are wet and stained, his t-shirt soaked from sweat – he can’t bare it it – so he gets up to take a shower; when he’s naked, he shivers imagining Atlas’ body against his own, becoming hard in no time.  
  
Jack bites his lower lips, looking down at his feet – _what’s wrong with me?_ – he thinks, as he inevitably touches himself.  
  
He recalls the dream to his mind and he comes  under the shower, clenching his jaw hard in order to not make a sound.  
   
   
  
Later, when he meets Brigid he doesn’t tell her his dream: she starts to think that he’s getting better, moving forward with his brand new life.  
   
  
  
He doesn’t know what to think.  
   
  
  
  
**_A T L A S_**


End file.
